Gandalf's Story: Smoke and Mirrors
by Sendstaken
Summary: Gandalf the Grey entertains the hobbit children at Bilbo Baggins' birthday party with a story about a long-lost King, a broken mirror, a Dragon and a Prince with a Golden Harp...


Ten thousand steps from the furthest place you've ever been to, over ranges and rivers, where only the birds venture flying, lived a King of great stature and wisdom, the like of which you shall not find in the world today.

The skies of his realm were made of stone, with jewels and gemstones glittering in countless constellations, like stars. The rivers flowed with shimmering gold and on their endless shores gigantic trees, with trunks made of rock and leaves formed by precious metals, would reach towards the stony firmament with hundreds of branches, like archways.

Each day the King would get up and look into his magnificent crystal mirror as he put the royal crown down on his head. The crown was made of iron and, even though it was beautifully shaped and decorated, it was very heavy and none but the King was strong enough to carry it. But each morning, as the King watched his reflection, he'd smile and leave the throne room without complaints, for the crown seemed fairly light and easy to bear in the early hours of the day.

But as the King visited his soldiers and his councilors, as he listened to the traders and the miners, as he bowed to other monarchs and exchanged news with envoys from the faraway lands, the crown grew heavier and the King grew weary. At the end of the day he would ask his son to help him remove his crown and his son would lay it on a pillow, awaiting tomorrow, for the King was always so tired he had no strength left to do so himself. But as a new dawn spread over his kingdom, and the torches were lit again, he'd put on the crown all by himself, standing before his unique and beautiful mirror.

One day the royal miners led by the King's son dug up an incredible gem – one which has never been seen in Middle-Earth before, for it shone like silver in the firelight, like water in the sun, like snow under the stars and like rain upon the moon… But the earth they delved would not give it away so easily, so they smote it with chisels, they smote it with pickaxes, and not until they smote it with their heaviest hammers would the earth let go of it. And as they struck the rock for the third and final time the ground shivered and so did the entire realm; and far away from where they were standing the royal mirror shattered into pieces…

When the King got up next morning there was no mirror he could look into. His servants brought him numerous others but he dismissed them all.

"The mirror I've lost was a gift from a friend and no other mirror could reflect me with such great yet sincere admiration", he said.

The mirror was indeed a gift from another king, living not so far away from the stony kingdom – one ruling over the lands of wood and birdsong. Sad and troubled over his loss, the King allowed his son to lift the Iron Crown from its pillow and rest it on his royal head. And even though it was still morning, the King bent under its weight before he left the throne room to carry out his duties.

As I said before, numerous rivers and lively streams flowed through his vast and mighty realm, some of them deeper than others, some of them wider or brighter, but all of them as gold as the Sun itself. Countless bridges and walkways crisscrossed over their waves, offering safe passage from one shore to another. That day, as the King was on his way to see the wondrous gemstone his son had found the day before, he stopped and for the first time ever decided to rest, looking down at the vast, golden waters flowing under the bridge.

And that is when he saw his own reflection not in a fair and transparent crystal, but in the shimmering stirs of the golden droplets. His face, unlike the face he saw in the crystal mirror, seemed bright and joyful, and trouble-free in the warm and mirthful glitter of the swirling gold; and as he looked on the reflection of his Iron Crown, he said to himself: "I should make myself a Golden Crown! It would be so much lighter and it would look far better resting on my temple than the crown I'm wearing".

And so the King ordered his blacksmiths to melt down his Iron Crown and make him a new one. "I was right", thought the King as he brought the Golden Crown to one of the rivers, put it on his head and admired his reflection. He then went to visit his soldiers and councilors, his miners and his traders, but he wasn't paying attention to what they were saying – for he desired nothing more than to see his own reflection in the golden river one more time. In the evening his son came to help him with the crown, but the King moved his hand away saying "This crown does not burden me as much as the old one. I do not need to put it away for my rest". From now on the King wore the Golden Crown day and night and the hours he spent looking into the golden river lengthened.

"We could ask the Woodland King for another crystal mirror", his son proposed one day, troubled by his father's odd behavior.

"Why send for a mirror when I have my own, far better than the one which was broken", the King answered. But when he looked into the golden waters that day, he felt discontent. His reflection, dignified and handsome as it was, kept disappearing in the swirling waters of the flowing river.

"I wish the golden waters to stay still", he told his architects before the evening came near. "Dam the rivers – each and every one of them!" For each river showed a different reflection of the King, depending on the stars shining above them and on the depth of their riverbed, and the King was not willing to resign from any of his mirrors.

And so the rivers were tamed and a great golden lake began to grow in the middle of the kingdom. It spread, and spread, and spread… until the last bridge disappeared under the water and the King could not pass from one shore of his kingdom to another, to visit his soldiers and councilors, nor to listen to his miners or his traders.

And that is when... the dragon came.

It was a fire drake from the North, with scales as red as blood and wings as wide as the horizon. Rumors had reached him about a vast golden lake hidden under a sky of stone and the dragon thought to himself: "Now that is a mirror I could see myself in from the tip of my nose to the last scale on my tail!" For all dragons are very vain and they enjoy nothing but admiring their own magnificence – and that is why they steal and hoard all shining things, just to see themselves reflected in their surfaces millions and millions of times. And this drake was the vainest of all drakes living at that time…

He entered the kingdom bringing down the rocky trees, shedding their metal leaves and ripping down the gemstone stars with his wings as he moved towards the great golden lake. The old King drowned in the golden river, along with his Golden Crown, but his son managed to lead their people away from the beast and away from the ravaged realm.

Centuries passed and the King's son found a new homeland for his kin. By hard labor and countless sacrifices he restored the wealth he once lost to the dragon. And a day came where his people crowned him as their king and made him a crown out of silver; a crown he accepted with a willing heart for he knew that to be a king was to carry a burden bestowed upon him by his people – a burden of responsibility and trust, as heavy as the crown they presented him with. But he feared looking into mirrors for he remembered that they were the downfall of his father. And the crown, even though it was made of fine silver mined at the roots of his new and lively realm, made him age far too soon.

One morning he left without a word and never came back. His son – the grandson of the Golden King – never accepted him as dead, hoping that one day he would return and sit again upon the empty throne. Slowly, the days turned sour and the watchful nights closed in. The Silver King did not return and the hair of his son began to turn silver as well…

One day the grandson of the Golden King was working in his forge. He did not have to labor anymore, but refused to leave the anvil which kept his arms strong and his mind focused. Exactly a hundred years have passed since his father's mysterious disappearance and the prince was brooding over his loss as he hammered a sword laid down on the anvil. The embers in his heart grew as hot as the coals in his forge and the strikes of his hammer grew stronger and stronger until…

SNAP!

… the blade shattered.

The prince looked down on the broken sword and saw his reflection for the very first time, for he was always too busy to worry about his bearing and he carried no crown, nor a diadem.

He saw his face in the cold, steel mirror of the broken blade and he held his breath – for, by chance or by fate, the shards of the sword formed a magnificent crown just above his reflection.

The prince did not sleep well that night, nor any night since, thinking about the Steel Crown he saw in his forge and about the crowns of his forbearers – the Iron Crown of his long-lost, faraway homeland, the Golden Crown of his grandfather and the Silver Crown of his father. And he thought about the dragon, as he turned the shattered sword again and again in his hands…

Spring came early that year and the roads filled with colorful travelers from distant lands, exchanging curious gossip for a pint of fine ale, and rumors reached the anxious prince about a certain wizard (yes, yes, that's me!), who's been here, and there, and back again, and learned as much as he was willing to share.

And so he searched for me, and found me, and said: "I've heard you're a wizard of great renown and I came to ask for your help. My wish is to kill the dragon which has haunted my homeland and rumor has it that wizards are masters in the art of dragon-slaying".

I looked at the broken sword he was holding in his hand and answered: "If you seek my opinion, here it is: you won't kill a dragon with a shattered blade."

"A shattered blade may not cut through the dragon scales, but it will pierce his heart like no other weapon", said the prince. "All I need is to know where to strike."

"And when to strike", I added. "The dragon won't let you approach him as long as he's awake and dragons can be awoken by a woodpecker hammering on a nearby tree."

"You do realize you are not instructing the ignorant? My people have had more dealings with dragons than most" said the prince. "So have you killed a dragon in your time or are the legends surrounding you no more than a children's story?"

"I've brought down many dragons in my life", I answered, "and more treacherous than yours; heartless ones – beasts requiring something far more extraordinary than a sharpened sword and a flawless arrow."

"So you cannot tell me where the dragon's heart is most vulnerable?" asked the prince impatiently.

"Indeed, I can't", I agreed. "But I can find you someone who might tell you that."

At that his expression changed and I saw a glimpse of hope in his hard and unyielding stare.

"And what would the price for his service be?" he asked.

"No more than you'd be willing to pay", I smiled.

"Fine", he said. "I will tell you where my army shall be stationed and you will bring him there…"

"Oh no, no army for you, dear prince" I shook my head. "This is a quest which must be carried out in the uttermost secrecy. Take a dozen of your warriors at the most, otherwise your mission is doomed to fail."

And so the prince returned home and thought about what I had told him.

"Whom should I choose to join me on this quest?" he pondered. "The bravest? The strongest? Or the ones who have not failed me so far?"

To ease his mind he took a golden harp his father saved from the dragon fire long ago; a harp his father used to teach him to play in the evenings, so their wearied hands could find some rest after a hard day's work. The music swam out of the throne room and into the vast chambers of his people, filling their hearts with blissfulness as they listened to the echoes from the fallen kingdom enchanted in the golden strings...

But there were some who did not linger listening to the sweet tones of the golden harp, but stood up and followed its notes to the very steps of the silver throne, where the prince was sitting down and playing his instrument. And as he finished his melody and looked down upon the warriors, and councilors, and noble-souls who gathered there, he thought to himself: "Twelve companions, said the wizard, so these twelve I shall take with me."

And so it happened that in a month or so after my meeting with the prince of steel, I came to visit Hobbiton, looking for my chosen expert. Did you know that he used to live there? Yes, that's right, in the very heart of the Shire, where a dragon hasn't been seen for almost a thousand years! But this is a different story, one which you are surely familiar with - the Story of the Green Dragon which now adorns your finest tavern.

* puffs his pipe *

As for the things which happened afterwards …


End file.
